Void Of All Honor, Avaricious, Rash, The

I Grant Indeed That Fields And Flocks Have Charms, For Him That Gazes Or For Him That Farms.

That All Men Would Be Cowards If They Dare, Some Men We Know Have Courage To Declare.

O Days Remember'd Well! Remember'd All! The Bitter Sweet, The Honey And The Gall; Those Garden Rambles In The Silent Night, Those Trees So Shady, And That Moon Se Bright, That Thickset Alley By The Arbor Clos'd, That Woodbine Seat Where We At Last Repos'd; And Then The Hopes That Came And Then Were Gone, Quick As The Clouds Beneath The Moon Past On.

Arrogance Is The Act Of The Great; Presumption That Of The Little.

Feel You The Barren Flattery Of A Rhyme? Can Poets Soothe You, When You Pine For Bread, By Winding Myrtle Round Your Ruin'd Shed?